


For The Reunion

by Pixxit



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-09-14 23:51:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16922748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pixxit/pseuds/Pixxit
Summary: Fuji comes home to find Tezuka still waiting, somehow.  (This was written for a Santa Smex exchange back in the day, but is no longer archived, so am uploading again)





	For The Reunion

When he passed through the airport's main exit and out into the mid-day sunshine, Fuji tipped his chin up and closed his eyes. The warmth on his face felt the same in Japan as it had in America, but that was where the similarities ended. Here, he felt like himself. Here, the leaves were red, brown, yellow, orange; there were nothing but spindly, bare branches in America. In America, Fuji had felt as though he'd lost touch with himself, somehow. 

The one bag he carried was heavy, but his footsteps were light across the concrete and when he paused at the edge of the sidewalk to hail a cab, he couldn't quite shake the feeling that everything was new now. Whether he truly wanted to or not, he was starting over.

A plain white car pulled up before him and he nodded cordially when he opened the door. "Good afternoon," he said, sliding across the seat and laying his bag next to him. "I'm going to Kozunomori."

Nodding, the driver accepted the handwritten address Fuji handed him and politely inquired after his flight. Fuji smiled, fatigue finally catching up with him, and as he responded, settled back against the seat and let his close for a moment. 

"What brings you to Japan? Business or pleasure?" 

The smile never left his face and he didn't consider the question for a moment. "Neither," he finally said. "Just coming home."

"Ah. Have you been away long, then?"

Fuji opened his eyes, trying not to watch his own reflection in the window. On the sidewalk was a young woman with three small children clinging to her skirts and her bag. One of them was crying and she was frowning. He wondered if she ever felt free anymore. "Yes," he finally answered. "Too long."

That it wasn't his homecoming that was paramount in his mind went unsaid. Truthfully, before the driver had even pulled out into traffic, Fuji was remembering the few weeks that preceded his departure and how miserable and unsettled he'd been. It was a memory that he'd recalled frequently during his time in the States. Something that never faded and never lost its significance. It was something that was never far from his mind, in fact, and something that he knew would serve as the primary reason for his eventual return. Now that he was home, and his reunion close at hand, he allowed his thoughts to drift this one last time. Because, from this point forward, he would dwell on the past no longer.

It was time to settle an old score and if things went as Fuji hoped they would, there would be new, better memories to take the place of his one, real regret.

_"Are you sure we should be here?" Oishi asked, glancing around quickly. He shoved his hands into his pockets, presumably to prevent himself from wringing them like an old woman._

_"Why shouldn't we?" Fuji returned. "Yamato-senpai invited us, didn't he?"_

_Between them, Tezuka was silent and Fuji knew it was because he was nervous. He could feel Tezuka's heat, noticed the way he wiped his hands on his pants every so often. He wasn't sweating, but Fuji could smell him all the same. He smelled like flowery shampoo and the spicy deodorant he'd taken to wearing recently. As much as Fuji liked his flowery-spicy scent, he liked him when he was damp and sweaty, too. He figured there was no accounting for taste._

_"What do you think, Tezuka?" he asked, careful not to bump his elbow lest he move away. "Do you want to go?"_

_Tezuka frowned, brow furrowed, and nudged his glasses up along the bridge of his nose. He wanted to leave, Fuji was certain, but he'd never say so. Not when Fuji had issued so casual a challenge._

_"No, that would be rude."_

_Fuji smiled and slid his hands into the pockets of his jacket. That meant, of course, that he would stay long enough to have a glass of soda and say hello to Yamato and then he would leave. And he would expect Fuji and Oishi to accompany him. Regardless of any insinuations to the contrary, Fuji would leave when Tezuka expressed a desire to do so. Though he'd never tell him so, Tezuka was the sole reason he'd gone at all._

_"Relax, Oishi," Fuji said, offering his teammate an easy smile. "It's just a party. I promise you'll make it through in one piece."_

_Oishi was only barely listening though; Fuji could see his fingers moving inside the pockets of his jacket, twisting and tugging on the fabric within._

_"There's Yamada-senpai," Tezuka said, nodding toward the refreshment table where several upperclassmen gathered. "I'm certain he'll remember us."_

_Fuji laughed, watching the other boys intently when Tezuka led them in that direction. There was a huge punchbowl on the table, surrounded by cans of soda and other bottles and boxes of fruity drinks. If the boys' interest and excitement regarding the contents of the punchbowl were anything to go by, Fuji knew that it certainly wasn't punch that they were all so eagerly ladling into their cups._

_It wasn't until almost an hour later that Fuji thought perhaps Oishi had been right to worry._

_As close as Oishi had stuck to Tezuka, time and nerves had got the better of him and he'd excused himself to the bathroom about half an hour after they'd arrived. Just before he'd wandered off, Fuji had inquired after any potential need for company and while Oishi had blushed and then frowned and then turned away to hunt up a bathroom, Fuji couldn't help thinking that he probably should have gone, anyway._

_While Fuji had stood in the kitchen, nibbling on rice crackers and wanting to try some of whatever was in the punchbowl, Tezuka had announced that he was going to find Oishi._

_"He's got two hands, Tezuka," Fuji told him, promptly biting into another cracker. "Do you really think he needs yours, too?"_

_Expression unchanged, Tezuka squared his shoulders. "Maybe he got lost."_

_Fuji looked around – the house couldn't have been any more than fifteen or sixteen hundred square feet. "You're right," he said, nodding his agreement. "It's very likely that he's wandered into a wardrobe and managed to get himself locked inside. He could be running out of air even as we speak."_

_Tezuka stood there for a moment, probably working out whether or not Fuji were being serious before turning abruptly on one heel and heading toward the staircase, where Oishi had gone before. Fuji wiped his mouth with a cocktail napkin, assuming that Tezuka had decided he wasn't serious._

_Fifteen or twenty minutes passed before Fuji began to glance around somewhat impatiently. He questioned the wisdom of his going out at all and almost wished he'd stayed home. Yumiko was making fruitcakes and Fuji loved it when she made fruitcakes._

_"Fuji-kun."_

_Looking over his shoulder, Fuji noticed one of the upperclassmen who had been a member of the tennis club for two semesters before deciding baseball had suited him better._

_He smiled, turning to face the boy. "Houjou-san," he greeted pleasantly. Fuji Shuusuke never forgot a name. "It's been awhile."_

_"It has," Houjou agreed, offering Fuji a small, styrofoam cup. "Here, have a drink."_

_Fuji accepted, though he didn't drink right away. "Thank you."_

_"Where are your friends? The captain and vice-captain?"_

_Taking a small sip, Fuji found that he'd been right about the punch. To his credit, he didn't let on that he was at all unnerved. "Ah, but Tezuka is not the captain anymore, is he?"_

_Houjou laughed. He had spiky, bleached hair and the sort of smile that hinted at something of a wild streak. He was very attractive and decidedly unsafe. His undivided attention would have probably made Oishi stutter._

_"I guess you're right. You'll finally be joining us at school again soon. Are you going to play for the high school team?"_

_"Of course," Fuji said. "As will Tezuka and Oishi. It won't be long before he's captain again."_

_Houjou smirked, sweeping Fuji with an assessing sort of glance. "So I guess you don't know where they are, then?"_

_Shrugging, Fuji drained his cup and set it down on the counter again. It burned his throat going down and tasted awful, but he didn't bat an eyelash. "I was just about to go and find them."_

_"I'll go with you," Houjou immediately offered. "I know the house better than you, after all."_

_Falling into step beside him, Fuji nodded. "Your friend owns the house?"_

_"Nah, my parents do."_

_"Your parents let you have parties like this, Houjou-senpai?"_

_"Not exactly," Houjou admitted, rubbing the back of his head and grinning sheepishly. "But what they don't know won't hurt them, right?"_

_Fuji only smiled, following Houjou up the steps to the second floor. There weren't many lights on and if the number of couples lingering against the walls and along the stairway was any indication, they were off for a reason._

_"Houjou-senpai," he began, immediately suspicious. "I don't think Tezuka or Oishi would have…"_

_But then Houjou gripped Fuji's shoulder, pressing him back against his body and holding him tightly. Fuji squirmed, but Houjou held fast._

_"Shh, Fuji-kun. You'll thank me later, won't you?"_

_"What?" Fuji said, attempting to pull away. "Let go of me. Where are Tezuka and Oishi?"_

_Houjou turned a corner, both arms around Fuji now, lifting him so that his feet cleared the floor. Leaning against the wall was a boy that Fuji had never seen and the smile he offered Fuji was mocking, condescending._

_"Hello, pretty thing. You missing your friends?"_

_Twisting in Houjou's arms, Fuji glared, humiliated that he didn't possess the strength to free himself. If Tezuka were to see him this way, Fuji knew neither of them would ever forget it. He couldn't let that happen._

_The boy opened a door, then, and winked at Fuji when Houjou shoved him inside. The door banged shut behind him and just as Fuji realized how small and dark the space was, the lock clicked into place._

_He was silent, barely daring to breathe, and wondering how on earth he was going to rescue Tezuka and Oishi when he was busy suffocating in a closet. How dearly he regretted the remark he'd made earlier about Oishi running out of air in a wardrobe._

_"Fuji?"_

_Fuji's breath caught and he reached out into the darkness, feeling for coats or shelves or walls or something. "Tezuka? Where's Oishi?"_

_"I don't know. I was looking for him when someone shoved me in here and locked the door."_

_Fuji sighed, fingertips tingling as he moved slowly, reaching. When he spoke, his voice was almost a whisper. "Where are you?"_

_After a moment or two, Tezuka's hand grazed his, fingertips sliding along his palm. "Right here," he murmured, just as quietly._

_"You didn't come back," Fuji said, pressing his palm to Tezuka's and moving slowly in his direction. "I got tired of waiting."_

_"Sorry," Tezuka said, the tone of his voice suggesting he wasn't really sorry at all, but needed to say something._

_Fuji moved closer until he could hear Tezuka breathing and when his shoe nudged Tezuka's, he grew still. Touching Tezuka's elbow, he stood, both of his feet between Tezuka's. "I hope Oishi's okay," he said, looking up even when he can't see anything._

_Tezuka tensed, but he didn't move away. "Aa."_

_They fell silent, neither boy saying a word though Fuji made no move to move away. Tezuka's sweater was soft under his hand and he could feel Tezuka's breathing against his forehead. On impulse, he splayed one hand over Tezuka's heart and leaned in closer to listen. It was hot and close and he could feel Tezuka's muscles bunching beneath his clothes._

_When he rested his head against Tezuka's chest, he murmured, "I want to get out of here."_

_"So do I," Tezuka was quick to agree. He rested one hand on Fuji's shoulder as though unsure whether he wanted to hold him in place or push him away._

_Eyes closed, Fuji inhaled slowly, daring to rub his cheek against Tezuka's shoulder. Despite their friendship, despite the years they'd known one another, Fuji had never been so close to Tezuka before – Tezuka didn't allow such closeness with anyone._

_"Fuji. What are you doing?" he asked. His voice was low, tight. Fuji swallowed hard, as though it were his own throat and not Tezuka's that had tightened so._

_"I don't know," he answered honestly. "It's dark. I wanted to be next to you."_

_"You're afraid of the dark?"_

_"Not especially," Fuji answered. "But we're trapped and this is strange. Isn't it, Tezuka?"_

_Tezuka didn't answer and Fuji drummed his fingers against Tezuka's chest. "I can feel your heart beating. Are you afraid of the dark?"_

_"No," Tezuka said._

_"Ah. Then it must be me."_

_When Tezuka didn't immediately deny his assertion, Fuji rested both hands on his shoulders and raised his chin. "That's why you brought Oishi. Insurance."_

_"Have you been drinking?" Tezuka asked, fingers tightening at Fuji's shoulders._

_"Just a little," Fuji admitted. "Houjou-senpai gave it to me."_

_"Who?"_

_"Houjou-senpai. The one who locked us in here."_

_The short, impatient sound that Tezuka made was indication enough of his frustration. "Fuji. I can't believe that you-"_

_"How did they get you in here, anyway, hm, Tezuka? You're almost as big as Houjou."_

_Tezuka grunted, but didn't answer right away, which told Fuji that he wasn't particularly interested in answering him._

_"That other one said that Oishi was in some trouble."_

_Fuji didn't laugh, but the smile was clear in the tone of his voice. "So you ran up here to rescue Oishi. Would you have gone so easily if it were me in trouble, Tezuka?"_

_"That's a ridiculous question; of course I would."_

_"Oh?" Fuji asked. "Would you worry about me the way you worried about Oishi?"_

_Silent for a moment, Tezuka inhaled quickly when Fuji pressed closer to him. Standing on tiptoes, though Tezuka couldn't see, Fuji whispered, "Do I make you nervous, Tezuka?"_

_Scoffing, Tezuka's voice was gruff when he spoke. "Of course no-"_

_But then Fuji's mouth was soft and warm against his own and Tezuka's protest was forgotten. His breath was shaky when Fuji tilted his head and shifted against him and when Fuji linked his arms around Tezuka's neck, allowing Tezuka to speak was the very last thing he intended._

_Fuji had never kissed anyone before and while he couldn't really tell if Tezuka had or not, he doubted that he had. He was stiff and awkward and clearly had no idea what to do with his hands when Fuji hummed against his lips and bumped his nose._

_Tezuka's breath was hot when Fuji pulled away. His lips were wet and his ears were buzzing and he couldn't quite believe that Tezuka hadn't knocked him back already. His skin felt itchy and crawly and it was suddenly far too hot in the cramped space they shared._

_For only a moment, Tezuka's hands were light at Fuji's back and then he backed further against the wall. "Fuji," he managed. "Let's...let's pound on the door. Someone will let us out."_

_But Fuji didn't want to be let out – not now. "No," he protested, though he rested his hands on Tezuka's shoulders again. "Not yet."_

_He leaned in for another kiss, certain that Tezuka would push him away when he tensed again, but when he paused – on tiptoes and very nearly face to face – Tezuka was surprisingly still._

_He licked his lips, angled his head one way and then the other while he bunched Tezuka's sweater under his hands. He could taste the plain, waxy lip balm that Tezuka used and when Tezuka exhaled, sharing breath with Fuji without protest, Fuji pressed full-length against Tezuka's body._

_Sucking in a breath, Tezuka gripped the back of Fuji's jacket and held him still. Neither spoke, neither moved – Tezuka was hard against Fuji's hip._

_He made some small, soft sound and pressed his hips flush against Tezuka's, breathing in when Tezuka exhaled. "Tezuka," was all he could say, while Tezuka seemed unable to say anything at all._

_He waited, so close, hoping that Tezuka would push, that Tezuka would make a move – that he would kiss Fuji, this time._

_But he didn't. He stood, frozen and tense and breathing fast and when Fuji slid one hand around to the back of his neck, he felt Tezuka turn his head away._

_"Tezuka?" Fuji whispered._

_The sudden banging at the door startled the both of them and Fuji stumbled back when Tezuka started forward._

_"Tezuka?" Oishi called, banging again. "Tezuka? Are you in there?"_

_Gripping Fuji's shoulder hard, Tezuka held him there, hesitating for only a moment before calling back. "Yes. Fuji and me – the door is locked, Oishi."_

_"It's okay, I can open it," Oishi said, jiggling the doorknob until the door creaked open to let the dim lighting in._

_It was Fuji's turn to look away, now, sighing heavily when Tezuka moved his hand away to step past him._

_"How did you two end up in here?" Oishi asked, looking flushed and bright-eyed. Fuji wondered if he'd found the punchbowl, too._

_"It's a long story," Tezuka answered. "Let's get out of here."_

_Oishi laughed. "Hey, Tezuka. I hear Yamato-senpai isn't even coming. Isn't that funny?"_

_Tezuka smiled tightly, waiting in the doorway for Fuji. But he wouldn't meet Fuji's eyes, not even when Fuji brushed past him to join them in the hallway. And he never said a word. Not to Fuji._

_They walked home together soon after. As it happened, Oishi had managed to find the punchbowl and alleviate his anxiety somewhat. He kept the conversation going on their way to the train, his chatter punctuated only by Tezuka's occasional grunts of acknowledgement. Fuji watched them from the corner of his eye and maintained his silence. It was the first time he could remember feeling like a non-entity in the presence of people he'd always considered his friends. He imagined that this is what it must feel like to be a ghost and he walked faster, wanting to be home. He boarded his train without saying goodbye and when he looked back, Oishi waved. For a moment, Tezuka met his gaze and when it became obvious that Fuji wasn't going to look away first, Tezuka did._

_Their interactions afterward were as casual as they'd always been, but with none of the semi-private moments and glances that had led Fuji to believe there was more to their relationship than simple friendship. That he was now realizing just how wrong he'd been hurt Fuji's pride as much as it hurt his heart._

_Two weeks before the end of the school year, he overheard Inui and Kawamura talking about the informal practices Tezuka had been engaging in with Atobe Keigo and what little hope he'd managed to harbor within himself simply dissipated. Whatever challenge Fuji had once been to Tezuka was no more. Disappointment and disillusionment weighed heavy on Fuji's heart and for the first time in his life, he considered running away. It was then, and only then, that he realized how Yuuta must have felt when he'd left Seigaku for St. Rudolph's. The reasons were different but the sentiment was very much the same. Some part of Fuji wanted to call Yuuta, apologize to him for what had come between them in the past, but it was all water under the bridge by then. It made no sense to reopen Yuuta's old wounds merely because Fuji's were just beginning to bleed._

_As fate would have it, Fuji's escape route opened up for him just as they were saying goodbye to middle school, goodbye to what had been, goodbye to each other. His mother's cousin extended an invitation to Fuji for a year or two of study in the States. It seemed too implausible to even consider at first, but the more thought he gave the idea, the more sense it made. It was, after all, an opportunity that not many boys his age would ever receive._

_Eiji said he should stay, Kawamura said he should stay. Oishi couldn't decide and Inui spoke to him of city lights and a strange, new culture. Kaidoh wished him luck, but his eyes were sad when he said it. Ryoma was unimpressed and said he could take it or leave it and it was up to Fuji-senpai and Momo talked about schoolgirls in skimpy clothes who had no curfew and knew how to party. When Fuji asked Tezuka, standing in his personal space and forcing an acknowledgment, Tezuka had stared back impassively and crossed his arms over his chest. It was his standard defense mechanism, Fuji knew, but – this time – it felt as though he were attempting to ward Fuji away._

_Finally, when Fuji did not push for an answer, Tezuka spoke. "What do you have to stay for?" was the one question he asked. He'd been looking over Fuji's shoulder when he said it._

_Bowing his head, Fuji had taken one step back, hoping that Tezuka would answer the very question he'd asked, but when the silence stretched and he offered nothing more, Fuji turned to walk away._

_Tezuka didn't call him back._

When the car turned left into a well kept, quiet sort of subdivision, Fuji began to take notice of his surroundings again. The houses were large with manicured lawns and clean streets. They were similar in stature and size and while such sameness unsettled Fuji, he imagined that this sort of neighborhood was where most people dreamed of living.

He watched the house numbers closely, excitement mounting the closer they drew to Fuji's destination and when the house slowed before a plain, dark brown two-story, Fuji sat up straight in the seat.

_This is it._

"This is it," the driver said. "Not too bad a drive, eh?"

"Not a bad drive at all," he agreed, reaching over the seat to pass the driver his fare. "Thank you very much."

The driver grinned, adjusting his rearview mirror and slipping his money into a small pouch on the seat. "My pleasure. And welcome home."

It wasn't until Fuji was standing on the doorstep with his bag at his feet that the magnitude of this reunion truly became a reality. He was going to see his friends again. He was going to see _Tezuka_ again.

He rang the bell, smoothed down the front of his shirt and brushed his hair away from his eyes. He'd taken a few moments at the airport to change clothes and wash his face, but the trip was catching up with him and it wouldn't be long before his body began to feel the strain. 

A pleasant-faced woman greeted him at the door, taking his bag and his jacket and pointing him to a hallway off to the right.

"The gathering is there," she told him, her Japanese halting and imperfect. Fuji was charmed by it though, and smiled his thanks when she returned his bow unnecessarily. 

In the hallway, he could hear people talking – could hear Eiji's voice above all the others – and he knew he wasn't late. In the doorway, he paused, smiling to see Eiji perched precariously upon an ottoman, arms out to balance himself as he retold one of the many surfing stories he'd written to Fuji about. 

"…and Gakuto – WHOOSH! – totally wiped out and his girlfriend laughed at him and I didn't tell him, but she gave me her number later and we-"

"Dated for two weeks until you found out that Gakuto had been planning to break up with her, anyway. Then you started dating her best friend." Fuji interrupted.

Glancing over quickly enough that he lost his balance, Eiji yelped – arms flailing – and barely managed a thank you for Inui, who'd caught him easily enough, before he was on his feet again and rushing at Fuji.

"You made it!" he exclaimed, sweeping Fuji up and squeezing him tightly. "I was afraid you'd change your mind or that you'd miss it."

When he released Fuji, stepping back to look hard at him, Eiji shook his head and hugged him again. "Man, it's good to see you!"

He laughed, then. "You're short, Fuji. What happened?"

Nudging him with his elbow, Fuji smoothed his hair down and smiled. "Nothing happened. You got tall."

Oishi stepped forward, eyes shining, and took Fuji's hand, holding on just a little longer than necessary. "Welcome home, Fuji. We're glad to have you back, truly."

Frowning, Eiji looped an arm around Oishi's neck and nudged his ribs with his fist. "You're not hogging him to yourself, Oishi, so back off."

Oishi laughed, tugging on a strand of Eiji's hair. "You're one to talk, greedy."

"Fuji," Inui said, inclining his head politely and smiling when Fuji did the same. 

"It's good to see you, Inui," Fuji said. "You haven't changed at all."

Inui pushed his glasses up and sniffed. "Yes, I get that a lot, actually."

Eiji laughed, moving closer to Inui to tease him about how he'd looked thirty in the 8th grade, and Fuji began to glance around quickly. As happy as he was to see his friends again, it was all too easy to allow himself to be completely distracted the moment he met Tezuka's eyes.

Conversation went on around them, so much background noise for a reunion that none of the others seemed to notice, and it was all too easy for Fuji to tune it out when he realized that Tezuka was making his way across the room. Tezuka was coming to _him_.

Barely cognizant of Eiji's laughter on the very fringes of his consciousness, Fuji tucked his hands into his pockets and forced a smile for the man heading in his direction. The one that Fuji had thought about almost constantly in the time he'd been away. The one he'd missed the most.

He tilted his head, expression carefully neutral as he imagined how their conversation might go.

_'Fuji.'_

_'Tezuka.'_

_'You look well.'_

_Thank you. As do you.'_

He was taller than he'd been when Fuji had left Japan. Just as stoic and perhaps appearing a touch more formidable than Fuji remembered, Tezuka was as much a loner as he'd always been, but there was something familiar just beneath his quiet, secure surface. It was recognizable enough that Fuji stepped forward to look up at him.

"Tezuka," he said, unable to prevent his staring. 

"Fuji," Tezuka returned, voice deeper than Fuji remembered.

"You look well," Fuji said, hands restless in his pockets though he struggled not to fidget. 

Sweeping him with a slow glance, Tezuka nodded stiffly. "Thank you. As do you."

Ducking his head, Fuji bit his lip to stifle his amusement and only looked up again at Tezuka's prompt. 

"What?" he asked, clearly confused. "What's funny?"

When he met Tezuka's eyes then, Fuji's smile was genuine. "Nothing. Everything." He reached out, touched Tezuka's arm briefly. "You really do look-" he faltered, only for a moment. "Very well, Tezuka."

The faint flush of color across the bridge of his nose was the only visible indication he gave that Fuji's proximity flustered him at all. "You, too. I meant it."

"It's awkward, ne? You and me?"

Tezuka shrugged, pretended not to notice the others who were pretending not to notice _them._ "It shouldn't be," was all he said, checking his watch and sending Fuji's secret, tentative hope plummeting. "We've known each other too long."

"You have somewhere you need to be?" Fuji asked, wondering if Tezuka would have come at all had he known Fuji would be making an appearance. He decided that it wasn't worth thinking about. Not when the suspicion that it might be true made his stomach twist miserably. 

"Yes," Tezuka managed, tugging the sleeve of his sweater over his watch and offering Fuji a small smile. "Welcome home, Fuji. I hope that we'll see each other again soon."

Nodding quickly, Fuji took out his cell phone. "What's your number? I'll text you mine."

Hesitating for only a moment, clearly not anticipating that Fuji would ask, Tezuka reached into his pocket to retrieve his phone. Fuji watched him, wondering if he dared to interpret his hesitation, his lack of grace, as nervousness. Tezuka's voice was quiet when he recited his number and when Fuji glanced up once to meet his eyes, he looked away quickly. 

"There you go," Fuji said, sliding his phone closed and pocketing it again. "Call me soon."

Tezuka nodded once and took a step back. "Goodbye, then."

Fuji watched him walk away, pausing here and there to offer his farewell, and he ignored the urge to follow. It seemed to him now, even after so long, that he was forever relegated to watching Tezuka walk away. Even when Fuji had been the one to leave, Tezuka had walked away first.

"Fuji," Oishi called to him. "Come and sit with us. We'll be eating soon."

He smiled though, letting his friends pull him back into their circle, into their lives, and all that night through, he did not allow himself to think of Tezuka.

\+ + +

Two full days had not passed when Tezuka called for Fuji.

In his tiny apartment, arranging each of his belongings in the ways that made him feel most at home, Fuji marveled over the lack of loneliness he felt. For the first time, he was living alone and the solitude soothed him in ways that he hadn't imagined it might. He enjoyed occupying his own space, being able to decorate and include those little touches that made his home so completely his without having to worry about someone else's tastes or whether or not his décor made sense, visually. There was an empty birdcage in the kitchen, filled with small potted plants and there were stick-on lights on the ceiling and parading along one wall. The rug in his bedroom didn't quite match the bedcovers and the antique stereo opposite the window hadn't worked in years. On the kitchen counter was a tiny aquarium with a scuba diver who shifted and blew bubbles to the surface of the water but no fish swam around him. Fuji enjoyed the sound of the filter and of the rocks shifting beneath the scuba diver, but he couldn't imagine keeping fish trapped in so small a space. Yuuta said he needed a dog but Fuji continued to demur. Dogs needed more attention than Fuji felt he could offer and he enjoyed his peace and quiet. Dogs were for people like Taka-san and Eiji, not him.

Drifting over to the window, quite enjoying the open space and lack of curtains or shades, he let his gaze wander over the parking lot below and the busy sidewalk that ran parallel to the apartment complex. He smiled, watching them bustle across the street, collars pulled high to block the chilly evening breeze, and thought that perhaps he'd venture out later for one reason or another. He began to consider a trip to the market or to his parents' house or even to Taka-san's when his mobile buzzed on the counter. 

When Tezuka's name lit up the screen, Fuji blinked in surprise and answered in as normal a tone as he could manage. Whomever he'd been expecting, it had certainly not been Tezuka. Not this soon, in any event. 

"Hello, Tezuka."

There was a brief silence and then the sound of Tezuka's breathing – so faintly that Fuji found himself straining to hear. And then his voice. "Fuji. It's not a bad time…?"

"Of course not," Fuji assured him, taking a seat at his small dining table. "I'm glad to hear from you."

Tezuka coughed, spoke low and very close to the phone. "Do you have plans tonight?" he asked. "I thought perhaps we could meet for dinner."

When Fuji did not answer right away, Tezuka was quick to offer him a polite means of escape. "But of course you probably intend to meet your family for dinner. You've only just returned-"

"No," Fuji interrupted. "I have no plans at all, actually. I'd like to see you tonight."

Tezuka's silence was indication enough that Fuji's words had affected him precisely as they'd been intended and when Fuji smiled, buoyed by the prospect of an evening with Tezuka, Tezuka cleared his throat. "Yes. I'd like to see you, also."

Shoulders shaking with repressed amusement, Fuji pressed the tips of his fingers to the window's cold glass and let his focus go blurry to obscure his own reflection. "But, Tezuka…could we meet for coffee, instead? I'm not feeling particularly hungry right now."

"Oh. Of course," he agreed. "Did you have someplace in mind?"

"I do," Fuji assured him, rattling off an address near a popular shopping district. It was central and populated – exactly what Fuji felt would be called for in a situation such as this. "Is seven all right with you?"

"Aa," Tezuka agreed and Fuji's heartbeat picked up, foolishly. 

"I'll meet you there," he said, disconnecting their call. 

Fuji watched Tezuka's number blink several times before the screen went dark again and he closed his eyes and took a slow, deep breath. It didn't help, though. His heart was pounding.

_'I'll meet you there.'_

\+ + +

The wind outside was much colder than Fuji had imagined it would be. By the time he arrived at the coffee bar, his nose and the tips of his ears were red. Swathing his scarf tighter around his neck, he moved closer to the glass doors of the bar and glanced around quickly. There, seated in the far corner, was Tezuka. With both hands wrapped around a plain, white mug, he stared into his coffee and ignored his surroundings. Fuji watched him for a few moments, taking the opportunity to observe him in secret without having to worry about keeping up appearances.

Tezuka glanced up, though, spotting Fuji through the glass door and waving him inside. Fuji smiled, used one fingertip to draw a smiley face in the condensation that turned the door chilly and opaque. Tezuka shook his head and Fuji laughed, pushing the door open and tipping his face up to bask in the blast of warm air that greeted him. 

He visited the counter first, ordering a spicy, frothy sort of coffee that always left the faintest hint of cinnamon on his lips long after the coffee was gone. It was warm and welcoming inside the shop; he could smell muffins and cookies in nearby ovens and he wished that his nerves were a bit more settled. As it was, he wasn't the least bit hungry and doubted that Tezuka's presence would be conducive to the sort of relaxed state necessary to enjoy a meal. It was pathetic, he knew, to still feel this way after so much time had passed. When he knew that Tezuka did not share his feelings and doubted very sincerely that he ever _had_. 

As he'd anticipated, Tezuka sat patiently. He waited for Fuji to receive his coffee and observed him in that detached way that Fuji remembered so well; that way that made Fuji feel like nothing more than so much decoration in Tezuka's vicinity. When he turned, coffee cup warm in his hands, he was dismayed to realize that Tezuka still seemed to view him in just that same way. Elbow on the table, chin resting in the palm of his hand, Tezuka's gaze was as cool and impersonal as any stranger's on the street might have been. Fuji shrugged further into his coat and scarf and smiled hesitantly when he took a seat across from Tezuka. 

"I hope you weren't waiting long," he said, leaning in to blow carefully at the froth that threatened to topple over the rim of his cup. Tezuka seemed riveted, watching him much more closely than he had appeared to do before.

"Not at all." He shrugged, took a sip of his tea. "I was a little early."

Silent for only a moment, Tezuka motioned to Fuji. "You're not planning to stay?"

Fuji shook his head, confused until he realized precisely what Tezuka was referring to. He laughed, unwinding his scarf and easing out of his coat and still Tezuka did not look away. It unsettled Fuji but, in some small way, made him happy, too.

"You're staring. Am I so different?" he asked, wrapping both hands around his cup again. 

Tezuka ducked his head, glanced up at Fuji through long bangs that brushed the frames of his glasses. "In some ways," he finally allowed. "But in others, you're still exactly as you used to be."

Fuji held his gaze, unwavering and perhaps more serious than Tezuka was accustomed to. "I'm not the same person I used to be."

Tezuka's frown, that minute tightening at the corners of his mouth, was indication enough that he'd puzzled that out on his own. Surprisingly enough though, he merely shrugged and stirred his tea idly. "Who is?"

He smiled faintly, again taking Fuji by surprise, and swept his own bangs aside. "You cut your hair."

"I needed a change," was all that he would say.

"Leaving the country wasn't change enough?" Tezuka asked, voice carefully light and non-accusatory. 

"Tezuka," Fuji began, completely unsure as to what he intended to say. Something within him swelled with excitement – this was the moment he'd waited three long years for – while some part of him felt he should give the both of them a little time before wheeling out the accusations and recriminations. Because, truly, no one was at fault. Tezuka wasn't responsible for Fuji's heart and never had been. Fuji's trip to the States had been necessary for his own self-preservation and had not been done to strike back at Tezuka for some slight that Tezuka had likely never been aware of in the first place. 

Before he could even attempt an explanation, however, Tezuka spoke softly. "I got your postcards."

When Fuji didn't answer right away, Tezuka continued. "Every one. You made them yourself, didn't you?"

"I did. I was involved with the yearbook committee at the school I attended. I had quite a bit of artistic freedom." He laughed, took a slow sip from his cup. "Not to mention the school's computers, printers, graphic design software. You get the idea."

"And you took advantage, didn't you? With a smile on your face and one hand on your camera."

"Well," Fuji hedged, grinning mischievously. "It wasn't _my_ camera."

Tezuka laughed, startling Fuji into a perplexed sort of silence. The man that Tezuka had become was both exactly the boy he'd been and yet more than Fuji had ever allowed himself to imagine. 

"It was odd," he said. "School without you. Tennis without you. Eiji moped for weeks."

"Ah," Fuji said, voice light and teasing. "But what about you, Tezuka? Did you miss me at all?"

Frowning then, Tezuka appeared uncomfortable. Flushed and nearly off-balance, he shifted in his chair though, to his credit, he didn't look away. "Everyone missed you."

Something in his non-committal answer – something in the way he seemed so determined to evade the very questions that Fuji needed answered the most – chipped away at Fuji's patience, at his willingness to extend even more of himself than he had already. 

"I'm not asking about everyone, Tezuka. I'm asking about _you_ ," he said, voice harder than he'd intended. 

Tezuka licked his lips, cheeks flushed and eyes guarded. Fuji's stomach began to hurt again. It hurt him to realize that years and miles and _time_ did nothing to lessen the ache that Tezuka Kunimitsu's mere presence seemed so easily able to induce. He used to think it was about tennis but now, years later, he knew differently. It was something of a shock to realize that all his perceptions – all the things he'd thought he'd known about himself and about Tezuka – were nothing more than one long stretch of miscommunication and false hope. 

"You never answered my postcards, Tezuka," he said. "I admit that I never expected a real letter from you, but would it have been to much to ask for a simple acknowledgment? Just a little something to let me know you received my postcards and understood what I was trying to say?"

Tezuka shook his head, angry now where he hadn't been before. "How could I? I would have been lying if I had."

Faced with Fuji's wounded expression, with the hurt and confusion that his assertion brought, Tezuka glanced away for the first time. "I never know what you're trying to say. Even when I began to think things were normal between us, I never knew what you were thinking. What you were planning."

"Planning?" Fuji asked, voice small. "All I ever wanted was to be close to you. To have you look at me the way you looked at Ryoma, at Oishi. At everyone who wasn't me."

When Tezuka looked up again, any hint of receptivity gone from his expression now, Fuji's hands tightened on the scarf in his lap. Coffee forgotten, he twisted the material tight around his fingers until the blood flow to his hands felt as constricted to that of his heart. 

"Why was it always me you seemed to consider your rival, Tezuka? When there were so many others who wanted to break your game for reasons much less innocent than mine?"

"Innocent?" Tezuka asked, flush with anger and discomfort and uncertainty and Fuji could only watch him, unable to turn the tide in his favor once more. 

"You wanted to beat me just like all the others. You wanted to prove to yourself that you were better."

Chest tight, Fuji stood, wrapping his scarf haphazardly about his neck and clutching his coat tight against him. "I know that's what you always thought," he managed, voice deceptively calm. "And I suppose it's my fault for never saying otherwise."

Slipping into his coat, some part of him satisfied with Tezuka's obvious surprise, Fuji looked down at him, favoring him with the sort of expression that he'd spent years attempting to hide. "I thought you knew. When I kissed you that night."

Even now, after so much time had passed, the mere mention of that night brought a flush to Tezuka's cheeks and an obvious need to continue to avoid the issue. Fuji wasn't that magnanimous, though. Not when Tezuka seemed so eager to deny him this one truth, this one acknowledgment. 

"I only wanted you to notice me, Tezuka. To acknowledge me on some level, no matter how impersonal. I chose tennis because it seemed easiest for you, but even then you kept your distance."

Tezuka shook his head in obvious confusion, but Fuji was already backing away. The way Tezuka had done to him three years ago on a night that Fuji knew he would never forget. 

"I just wanted to be your equal. To be near you. To stand in the place that you occupied." 

He laughed, completely without humor, and shoved his hands deep into his pockets. "You gave my place away. You gave it to someone else."

Tezuka stood, when Fuji turned toward the door. Lips parted, he reached for the space that Fuji had occupied only moments before. The space between them seemed wider than ever and impossible to breach and all that Tezuka could do was to watch him walk away. 

"Fuji," was all that he could say. But Fuji was already gone and Tezuka knew that he had no one to blame but himself. 

Sighing heavily, he sat down again, staring at the cup that Fuji had left behind. What should have been the easiest thing in the world had become nearly impossible for Tezuka to understand. It was as it always had been – he simply could not understand Fuji Shuusuke. And though he suspected that the feeling was mutual, he had no idea how to go about mending the fences that had kept them all in such close proximity for so long.

Staring outside, through the glass walls and into the street, Tezuka couldn't shake the feeling that the ties that he'd always thought had helped to bind them all together had done nothing more than create the sort of boundaries he had no idea how to breach. It occurred to him that perhaps he'd been going about this the wrong way. 

Where Fuji was concerned, there was nothing left to mend. But there were walls he could knock down, if he was truly ready to deal with the storm those walls almost certainly contained. It was then, for the first time, that Tezuka realized the part he'd played in Fuji's withdrawal. All that was left, now, was to figure out how to gain back the ground he'd lost without giving away all of himself in the process. 

Tezuka rose, threw both his and Fuji's cups away, and pushed open the heavy, glass door. The wind outside was sharp, seeking to get inside Tezuka's coat and under his skin. It was going to be a long night.

\+ + +

If anything about his homecoming had seemed odd or unfamiliar, the route to his parent's house was not one of them. He knew, down to the minute, how long it would take to get there, where his siblings were likely to be at this time in the evening, and beneath it all was the certainty that he should have gone _there_ before meeting with Tezuka.

It was quiet in the kitchen – his parents were likely out – and the stairs were dark. He could hear the television, loud with canned laughter, in his sister's room and it was in that direction that he headed first. 

Rapping lightly at her door, he called her name loud enough to be heard, but not so much as to startle her. 

"Nee-san?"

Pushing open the door, Fuji peered inside, glancing only for a second at the variety show his sister was watching. 

"Shuusuke? What are you doing here?"

Fuji smiled, leaning in the doorway to take in the sight of his sister. Seated at the small vanity table, clad only in an oversized bath towel and combing long, wet hair, Yumiko paused mid-stroke and beamed a smile at her brother. "I thought you had plans tonight."

Shrugging, Fuji leaned his head against the door and watched Yumiko sweep her hair up in a clip to bare the back of her neck. "I did."

"Early night, though, wasn't it? That can't be a good sign."

Fuji sighed, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. "It isn't. Where's Yuuta?"

Lips quirking in a little smile, Yumiko uncapped a bottle of lotion and began to smooth it along her forearms and elbows. "He and Hajime are at some coaching clinic in Hokkaido. They left early this morning."

"Coaching clinic," Fuji repeated.

Yumiko shrugged. "That's what Yuuta said."

"And you believe that?"

She laughed, motioning Fuji over. "Why shouldn't I? Come here and do my back."

He took the bottle from her, squeezing lotion into the palm of one hand before rubbing his palms together. He met her eyes in the mirror, pensive as he rubbed lotion into her shoulders. "It's just so…odd. It's been – what? – four years that they've been living together."

"Don't let Yuuta hear you say that," Yumiko warned, bowing her head to encourage more of Fuji's attentions near the base of her neck. "They're roommates, Shuusuke. _Roommates_."

"They went on vacation together, Nee-san. Alone. Does that say 'roommates' to you?"

Shoulders shaking in silent laughter, Yumiko loosened the towel around her to allow Fuji access to the middle of her back. "You should have seen them before they departed. Hajime had on a lilac ski jacket and matching boots."

Rubbing slowly, easing the tension in Yumiko's shoulders and along the line of her back, Fuji tilted his head in question. "So?"

"So," she continued, humming her pleasure at Fuji's perfect pressure. "Yuuta was carrying his matching lilac bag."

"What did Mother have to say about that?" Fuji asked, amused in spite of himself.

"Are you kidding me? She asked where Hajime had found his bag. She inspected it while Yuuta was holding it – slapped his hands away when he tried to protest and the whole nine yards."

"Poor Yuuta," Fuji murmured. While he certainly wasn't happy with Yuuta's relationship with Mizuki Hajime, there seemed to be little that he could do or say about it since Yuuta showed no signs that he might ever grow weary of Mizuki's presence in his life.

"Oh, that's not all. When they got back into town, they stopped by to see us and Mizuki gifted Mother with a bag just like the one he was carrying when they left."

"What do you think? Do you think they're just roommates?" Fuji asked. "I suppose it's possible."

Yumiko rolled her eyes. "Forget it, Shuusuke. They've been an item since just after you left for the States. Whether or not either one of them is willing to admit it to the rest of us, they're totally together."

Fuji frowned, hands slow and light as he lost himself in thought. "It's my fault. It's my fault my little brother is sleeping with a harpy."

Elbowing him lightly, Yumiko gave him a hard look in the mirror. "Stop it. Your leaving was probably good for Yuuta. He's in love; leave him alone."

Resting his hands on his sister's shoulders, he met her gaze squarely in the mirror. "Do you really believe that he's in love?"

"Yes, I do. And if you want the truth, I only wish that you could give up whatever ghost you keep chasing and find something even half as true."

Fuji sighed, slipped his arms around Yumiko's neck and bent to rest his chin on her shoulder. "Worry about your love life, Nee-san. Not mine. I'm fine."

Tilting her head to lean against Fuji, Yumiko raised one hand to touch his arm. "You always say that. You shouldn't lie to your big sister."

"Yes, Nee-san," he said, demure and obedient, and laughed when she scowled at him. 

"Do you want to talk about it?" She finally asked, voice soft and cajoling. It was no use, however. Fuji knew all her tricks – each and every one – and this time he wasn't telling. Whatever pain he felt was his own burden to bear and to share it, even with the one person in the world that he truly trusted, might make it less real, somehow. 

"No," he said, straightening and tugging her towel back up. "And you have a date. I'm going to head home, I think."

"Alone?" She asked, concern clear in the tone of her voice. "Shuusuke, I can cancel, you know. I can stay home with you if you want me to."

He paused at the door, one hand on the doorjamb when he turned to face her. She, too, turned in her seat – clutching the towel over her breasts when she pulled the clip free of her hair. "I'm worried about you."

He smiled, so serene and reassuring like the hundreds of smiles he'd faked in his life, and he shook his head. "I'm a big boy, you know. I can take care of myself."

In the hallway, she called out to him, "He's not worth it, Shuusuke. No one is. Remember that."

On the steps, heading toward the door, toward the cold, toward a home that didn't yet feel like home at all, he let his smile fade.

"I'll remember."

\+ + +

Tezuka repressed a shiver, tugging the hood of his coat tighter to the back of his neck. Nearly an hour and a half had passed since he'd arrived at Fuji's house, certain that he couldn't go home after what had happened in the coffee shop, only to discover that Fuji had yet to return home. He'd sat down on cold steps to wait and though his down jacket was more than enough to protect him from the late autumn winds, prolonged exposure had made his nose and fingertips numb with cold.

Pushing back his sleeve, straining his eyes to see the face of his watch in the darkness, Tezuka startled when he realized someone had approached him. He looked up, met Fuji's eyes and couldn't hide his surprise or that he was glad that Fuji had returned. 

"I waited," he said, frowning when he realized how stupidly obvious he had sounded.

"I'm sorry," was Fuji's nearly immediate response. "If I'd known…"

"No," Tezuka interrupted. "I'm the one who should be apologizing. I handled things badly back there."

"Oh?" Fuji asked lightly. "Could you be more specific? Are you referring to earlier tonight or the night I kissed you and you never spoke to me again."

"Fuji," Tezuka began wearily. He was cold, he was confused, he was tired. He deserved Fuji's scorn, though. He wasn't so self-involved that he couldn't readily admit it. 

"You're right," Fuji allowed, sounding calm and cool again. "That was petty of me."

"Can I come in?" Tezuka asked suddenly. "Can we start over?"

Staring at him for a handful of moments, Fuji's expression never altered and Tezuka found that he could not look away. Fuji's eyes, always so beautiful, seemed darker, deeper, somehow. That he wanted to ask precisely what Tezuka meant by 'starting over' was obvious, but instead of asking more questions, he merely nodded.

"Of course. You must be cold," he said, turning to unlock the door and holding it open for Tezuka. "Your nose is red."

Blushing faintly, Tezuka shrugged his shoulders and followed Fuji to the elevator. "A bit."

Inside, Fuji faced him under harsh, artificial lighting and smiled sweetly. "More than a bit. Your ears are red, too."

Before Tezuka could respond – if, indeed, he'd planned to dignify Fuji's teasing with a remark at all – Fuji unwound the scarf he wore and stepped close to wrap it snugly around Tezuka's neck. 

"There you are. Much better."

Fuji's fingertips against his neck made him shiver just as the wind had only moments before and he blushed again, far too self-aware under Fuji's expectant gaze. 

"We're inside now. I don't need this."

Fuji laughed, as though Tezuka had said precisely what he'd imagined he would say, and glanced up at the numbers that glowed red one after the other. "You'll need it on the way home. You'll probably miss the last train."

Tezuka frowned. "Thank you for giving me something to look forward to."

The elevator dinged, the doors slid open. Fuji turned to face Tezuka – one hand tight on the door to prevent it's closing. He wasn't smiling anymore.

"You're welcome."

Tezuka followed him silently, made oddly relaxed for being allowed to observe him openly. Fuji was light on his feet; his reflexes were just as swift and sharp as they'd always been. Tezuka had always loved watching him in motion, though he'd kept such preoccupation hidden very, very well. Too well, he imagined, if Fuji could harbor such misgivings so vividly and for so long. 

It was dark inside Fuji's apartment and neither of them spoke when Fuji closed the door and toed off his shoes on the mat just inside the doorway. Tezuka followed suit, unzipping his jacket though he made no move to actually remove it until Fuji held out a hand to him. 

"I'll hang your coat up," he said, waiting patiently as Tezuka slipped the coat off his shoulders. 

Draping the coat over the arm of one chair, Fuji looked over at him as he took off his own coat. It was only then that Tezuka realized he still wore Fuji's scarf. He touched it self-consciously, felt his heartbeat pick up under Fuji's intent stare. 

"How did you know where I lived?" Fuji asked, moving to the sink to fill a small teapot. 

"I called Kawamura," Tezuka said, surprised when Fuji laughed. 

"Did you? What did he say?"

"Not much," Tezuka admitted. He and Kawamura, friends though that they'd once been, had not kept in touch after middle school. It made him sad to remember how much time they'd all spent together in the past. It all seemed so far away anymore. "I got the feeling that he didn't want to tell me."

Still smiling, Fuji rooted around in a small, wicker basket for a couple of bags of tea that he shook against his palm. "He didn't. I'm surprised that he did, to be honest."

At Tezuka's confused expression, Fuji shrugged. "Don't take it personally. He's protective, that's all."

"Protective? Of you?"

"We were very close once, Tezuka – Kawamura and I. We still are, I suppose. He's a good friend to me."

Taking immediate offense, Tezuka nearly bristled and it startled him. He'd never experienced jealousy before. Not like this.

"I'm happy for you, then," he said, hating himself for saying the wrong thing. Again.

Fuji turned, pressing fingertips into the soil of one of his small, potted plants that lined the windowsill and he sighed softly. "You misunderstand. Kawamura has a girlfriend. He's getting married in the spring, he says."

"It bothers you?" Tezuka asked, steeling himself for Fuji's answer. "That he's getting married?"

Gazing outside, though there was nothing to see but the lights in the distance, Fuji's voice was low, sad when he spoke. "It does."

The ache in Tezuka's chest was immediate and, suddenly, he wanted to run. Wanted to do what Fuji had done and run until there was no place left to hide. Run until he found the answers that had eluded him for so long. In that moment, he thought he was just a bit more able to understand Fuji and what made him what he was. Never had the urge to touch another person, to be close to another person, been so strong. Before he could speak, though – before he could move, before he could take the risk – Fuji continued.

"Everyone is moving forward, Tezuka. Even you. Everyone knows what they want; they know just how to get it. But I don't. I don't move forward at all, have you noticed?"

He turned to face Tezuka then, half in shadow. "Even when I think I'm progressing, I'm only going backwards. Since the day you took that last win from me, I've just been going in circles."

"It was only a game," Tezuka began, somehow knowing that it was the wrong thing to say but needing so badly to understand. 

Fuji shook his head. "Not the game, Tezuka. You were a worthy opponent; I never begrudged you the win. It was more than tennis to me. But it was only tennis to you. And I can't find a way to bridge the gap, do you see?"

"I didn't understand," Tezuka said, taking one slow, tentative step forward. "It took me longer to get where you are."

The teapot whistled then and Fuji turned in the direction of the stove. "You'll never be where I am, Tezuka. The sooner I accept that, the better off we'll be."

Tezuka shook his head, but Fuji paid no attention, absorbed in his task as he was. He poured two cups of boiling water, his every move graceful, deliberate. "We can be friends again. The way I'd always hoped we would be."

"Do you love me?" Tezuka asked, surprising himself with words he hadn't planned to say. "You loved me once."

Appearing unmoved, Fuji dipped a teabag into one of the cups and shrugged lightly. "How could I know what love was? How can I say that I ever did?"

"Please," Tezuka said, voice harder, louder than he'd intended it be. "Tell me how you feel. Don't leave me to guess and don't wander off and expect that I'll follow. Just… _tell me_."

Fuji was silent, cool, as he set the tea to steep and only then did he turn to face Tezuka once more. 

"If I didn't love you before I left, I learned how to love you while I was gone."

"And now?" Tezuka asked, wary of just how far Fuji would allow him to push. 

"Nothing's changed," Fuji told him easily. "The minute I saw you that first day back, it was like I'd never left. It was something of a shock to see you there, honestly. I didn't think you'd come to me so willingly."

Tezuka swallowed, transfixed by the play of shadow over Fuji's face, by the sound of his voice, his complete lack of guile. He didn't say so, but when he'd heard that Fuji would be at the party, Tezuka had simply been unable to stay away.

"This doesn't have to mean anything to you, Tezuka," Fuji went on. "I'm not expecting anything from you. I never have."

"What's the point of all this, then?" Tezuka asked. "If you don't expect anything from me, why did you come to me when you returned?"

"I'd hoped, that's all," Fuji said, linking his hands behind his back. "After so long, aren't I entitled to hope?"

"Why did you come back?" Tezuka asked, voice low. He was getting close – he could feel it. "You could have stayed away forever, but you didn't."

Fuji smiled then, slow, genuine – more cunning and more beautiful than Tezuka had ever been able to recall during his absence. 

"For the reunion, Tezuka. I came back for _you_."

Those words – that gave nothing away but meant everything in that moment – made the hair on the back of Tezuka's neck stand up. Made him shiver with anticipation, with _desire_.

He felt, as he moved closer to Fuji, that there were things he'd yet to say. Feelings that he could, at the very least, attempt to articulate. But the words wouldn't come and the moment his fingers grazed Fuji's wrist, Tezuka realized that there were no words that he could offer that might carry one-tenth of the weight that this closeness might. 

_For the reunion, Tezuka._

_I came back for you._

It was completely without thought to the consequences of his actions that Tezuka touched Fuji's face, slid the palm of his hand across Fuji's cheek and further still to cup the back of his neck. It was as if none of his actions were truly his own when he ducked his head to press his lips to the corner of Fuji's mouth. He'd been kissed this way before – without thought to censure or possible rejection and while he'd scorned a few for daring to get so close without first being invited, at last Tezuka felt as though he understood the motivation behind so bold a move. Though he would have sworn to anyone who doubted that Fuji's kiss was far, far sweeter than his own. 

"I let you walk away," he whispered, framing Fuji's face and brushing soft, tentative kisses against his lips. "But I never gave your place away."

Eyes closed, Fuji lifted his chin, grabbed handfuls of Tezuka's sweater to hold him close. Against his ear, Tezuka murmured, "I didn't know I wanted someone that close to me."

Nosing against Tezuka's cheek, Fuji slid one hand up his back to tangle in the back of his hair. "See how close I am," he said, splaying his other hand just over Tezuka's heart. "I can feel your heartbeat. Tezuka. _It's not close enough_."

Tezuka kissed him, then. Slow, close, deep – all the things that he'd never thought to offer another person, he offered to Fuji in nothing more than the heat of one kiss. Even when Fuji held him too tightly, tugging him toward the futon in the far corner of the apartment. Tezuka went without hesitation, certain that Fuji would show him the way. 

He pulled at the scarf around Tezuka's neck, rubbed his face against Tezuka's sweater. He touched him everywhere – his chest, his shoulders, the back of his neck – and took the kisses that Tezuka couldn't offer him quickly enough.

"You haven't thought this through," he said, voice rough when he slipped his fingers beneath Tezuka's sweater to tug it up – over Tezuka's head. "You pity me."

Tezuka wanted to laugh – would have if Fuji's mouth weren't such an incredible distraction – and went to work on the buttons of Fuji's shirt with decidedly less than steady fingers. "Who could pity you? Fuji Shuusuke."

It was there, in his voice, the regard he held for Fuji. The admiration, the desire, the acknowledgment he'd been too selfish and too closed-minded to give when Fuji had needed it the most. 

Quick to free the buttons of Tezuka's pants, Fuji exhaled slowly when Tezuka eased the shirt away from his shoulders and bent his head to nuzzle at the curve of his neck, his shoulder.

Tezuka held him too tightly, his hands were shaking, and when Fuji jerked the last button free to spread his pants open, Tezuka sucked the soft skin of his throat, pressing his tongue to the pulse that he found there. 

"Tezuka," Fuji murmured, bunching the back of his pants in one fist when he rubbed Tezuka's cock with the flat of his hand, over Tezuka's underwear. "I want to see you. I want more than this."

Tezuka wondered idly, as Fuji slipped free of his embrace to sink to his knees before him, if anyone in the world knew precisely how intense and how amazing and how completely overwhelming Fuji Shuusuke truly was. He wondered how he'd gone so long without realizing it, himself. 

He gasped when Fuji rubbed his cheek against Tezuka's dick, gripped Fuji's shoulders when he breathed hot through the thin cotton of Tezuka's underwear.

"Y-You don't have to…" he began, flush with arousal and surprise. No one – ever – had been quite as uninhibited as it seemed Fuji would be.

Hooking his fingertips in the waistband of Tezuka's underwear to ease them down, Fuji looked up, finally. He smiled and his eyes were blue, blue, blue in the near-darkness of the room. The moonlight was enough and Tezuka was glad for the darkness when Fuji – slowly, tentatively – licked the crown of Tezuka's erection. He gasped, stiffened, tightened his grip on Fuji's shoulders. 

"You don't have to tell me that," Fuji said, hands resting just at Tezuka's hips for only a moment before moving to grab Tezuka's bottom. "When I have ever done anything that I didn't want to do, Tezuka?"

Lips parted, as though he might answer such a question, Tezuka moaned when Fuji's lips closed around him. Snug, wet, hot – it was every illicit fantasy that Tezuka had ever pretended he'd never had. Fuji knew exactly what he was doing and Tezuka knew his being to hold back the sublime rush of pleasure was wishful thinking, at best. 

"No," he said, one hand stealing into Fuji's hair to stroke, to pet, to reassure, to _anchor_.

Fuji didn't stop. He met Tezuka's eyes for only a moment before closing them again and his cheeks hollowed when he slid forward to suck hard.

Tezuka cried out, voice breaking over what could have been Fuji's name. He didn't want to come, didn't want to stop, didn't want Fuji to take this heat away. 

"I want you, too," was all that he could manage. "Don't end it like this."

On his feet in an instant, Fuji gripped Tezuka's cock, jacking him slow when he kissed his mouth. Tezuka's toes curled against the bare, cold floor and he reached between them to unfasten Fuji's pants and lower the zipper. 

Fuji grunted, pushing toward Tezuka's hand and turning his wrist excruciatingly slowly when he panted for breath, their lips inches apart. With each of Tezuka's exhalations, Fuji breathed deeply. He stole his breath, tasted his lips, touched him the way Tezuka had never thought he would allow anyone to touch him. 

"This isn't the end," Fuji promised, burying his face in the curve of Tezuka's neck when Tezuka began to push, to shove at his pants.

And then they were on the bed, vying for dominance in so small a space that Tezuka grunted in surprise when his back hit the wall. With very little effort on his part, they were, the both of them, free of their pants and underwear and when he linked his fingers through Fuji's and pushed hard to roll him to his back, Fuji surprised him again when he wrapped both legs tight around Tezuka's hips. He arched his back, eyes bright when Tezuka shifted to nudge between his legs, and pulled him down into another wet, messy kiss. 

"Move," he said, fingers tight at Tezuka's biceps. "Move with me."

He sucked in a breath, dizzy when Fuji rubbed against him, and catching his rhythm seemed the most natural thing in the world when he leaned forward to press closer to the man beneath him. 

Something in his expression, something in the way he met Tezuka's eyes and stared so deeply into him caused Tezuka's focus to shift. His body felt good – better than anything Tezuka could find to compare it to – but it was the breath, the space, the moment they shared that made him understand just what it was he saw in Fuji's eyes. 

Himself, reflected, refracted, falling headfirst into a love that he hadn't known was his. Before, it had been Fuji's – it had been something he could speculate about but could never, ever touch – and now Fuji was sharing it with him. 

It occurred to him then that he did understand Fuji, after all. Understood him in the most basic of ways. In the only real way that mattered. 

"I'm sorry," he said, when it was something else entirely that he'd intended to say. And then he was too close, eyes closed tight and gathering Fuji against him to hold him close the way he should have held him that night, three years ago. 

"I hurt you. I'm sorry," he said again and Fuji held on tightly, his mouth damp against Tezuka's throat. He was speaking, Tezuka could feel his lips move, but he didn't hear a single word that he said when he trembled in the circle of Fuji's embrace and breathed his name. " _Coming_ …"

The moment seemed to stretch, to twist, to become something completely immeasurable and Tezuka's last coherent thought was that _this_ was Fuji's homecoming. This space that they occupied, that had become theirs alone, was where Fuji belonged. Tezuka did not intend that he would ever leave it again. Not when he finally understood what he'd been running from all this time. 

"Shuusuke," he murmured, nosing against his ear, his hair, rolling to one side to pull Fuji flush against him. 

They were silent, after. There was nothing left to say.

\+ + +

Fuji murmured, shifting in discomfort as he came awake slowly. Light flooded the tiny apartment and he was cold – cold and sticky and positively _starving_.

Tezuka stirred, turning to press his face to Fuji's chest, holding him tighter and unwilling to let go, to wake up.

"Tezuka," he said. "I have to go."

"Stay," Tezuka slurred, both arms wrapped tight around Fuji's shoulders. 

"Tezuka. I have to use the bathroom."

Murmuring his protest, Tezuka kissed Fuji's shoulder, his neck. "Warm here."

Turning his head, Fuji took in the sight of Tezuka – sleep-rumpled and disoriented – and smiled when he lifted one hand to smooth his messy, tangled hair. He supposed he could wait just a little bit longer. He'd waited this long, anyway.

"Five minutes," he said. "And _you're_ getting breakfast."

Tezuka sighed, snuggling close when Fuji tugged the blanket up around his shoulders. 

"Tezuka," he prompted. "Tezuka?"

Lying back amidst the pillows and messy blankets – snug in Tezuka's arms – Fuji turned his gaze toward the window. Through the early morning frost, he noticed a small, yellow bird hopping along the window's ledge. After a moment, the bird flew away, leaving one tiny feather to drift in its wake. 

Fuji closed his eyes again. 

He didn't mind the wait.


End file.
